


First Cup of Tea, Take Two

by Kryptaria, rayvanfox



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:09:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3125525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/pseuds/Kryptaria, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayvanfox/pseuds/rayvanfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's nothing cuter than a sleeping Quartermaster, especially when that Quartermaster is one's lover. But even James Bond knows better than to wake his lover without tea in hand, especially when the last mission had complications.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Cup of Tea, Take Two

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Первая чашка чая: версия 2.0](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10440999) by [Christoph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Christoph/pseuds/Christoph)
  * Inspired by [First Cup of Tea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3119879) by [Kryptaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/pseuds/Kryptaria). 



> This is what happens when you ficlet your own ficlet.
> 
> Thanks to neverwhere and zephyrfox for the betaing!

_This_ , James Bond thought as he stared down at the bed, _is complicated_.

People said that sort of thing as an exaggeration, for dramatic effect, but this time, it was true on every possible level, from professional to personal. There was certainly nothing simple about the man sleeping in the bed, curled up in a warm, blanket-wrapped ball in the centre of the generous mattress, surrounded by pillows. Mind, body, and — dare he think it? — soul, Q was the most complex creature James had ever encountered.

And considering the last week, that was saying a great deal.

The tea was a peace offering, brewed to exacting specifications. The finest black tea enhanced with oil of bergamot and a hint of dried lavender, kissed by boiling water, steeped to the ideal shade of rich brown, then gentled by a splash of milk and a touch of sugar. All that bloody work for a pot of swamp-water seemed ridiculous, but James rather hoped that he’d got the details right. Q was a pain in the arse about paperwork, but heaven help anyone who mucked about with his private stash of tea.

“Darling?” James asked softly.

Perhaps too softly. There was no reaction from the mound of bedding.

Warily, James raised his voice. “Q, darling? I brought tea.”

“Hrmfph.” Q stuck his nose out from under the duvet  for a moment, then curled up tighter and pulled the covers completely over his head.

This, from the fearsome, fearless head of Q Branch.

Charmed, James turned sideways so he could rest the mug on one knee, closer to the pillows, in hopes that the scent might jump-start Q’s neurons. “I’m back from my mission, love. Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“No.” Q’s hand slid out from under the blankets and reached to pat along the corner of the nightstand until it came to the top and his fingers lighted upon his glasses. They clutched the frames gently, and then the arm snaked back under the covers with its treasure. James waited for a spectacled head to emerge, but no luck. “You shouldn’t be seeable. This is _my_ flat.”

“And you’re _my_ ” — James hesitated, struck by the juvenile wording that nearly slipped out, but there was no other way to put it — “boyfriend.” Thankfully, Q was still hidden and thus missed James’ wince.

“Correction: you’re _mine._ ” Q allowed the tiniest crack between blanket and pillow to open, probably for air more than anything, but it meant Bond could hear him better. “ _My_ lover, _my_ agent. _My_ headache. None of which I need while I’m sleeping. Go away.”

“But tea,” James pointed out, tempted to prod Q in the side, but that could be hazardous. Like any good MI6 executive, Q had a weapon in reach at all times, which could be inconvenient for both James and the suit he’d put on in hopes of impressing Q with his fashion sense. Instead, James put his faith in caffeine — Q was addicted to the stuff — and brought the tea a bit closer to Q’s nose. “And I made it back to London generally in one piece. You should be happy to see me.”

“And what about your tech? Any weapons? I issued you three separate items from Q branch. Where are they? I’ll be happy to see _them._ ” The crack in the covers widened, and Q’s nose appeared again. As did his hand, a moment later. It reached for the tea and took it from Bond’s hand, pulling the mug as close to the crack as possible without spilling all over the bedding.

“You can’t see anything with your head under the duvet,” James pointed out logically. Q liked logic, after all. It could even be said that logic was his raison d’être.

“So there’s something worth seeing, then? Give it here.” Q’s other hand slid out from the covers and braced against the mattress. Then a massive upheaval of bedding resulted in a virtually unspilled cup of tea in the hands of a sitting Quartermaster, still fully wrapped in blankets up to his bespectacled eyeballs.

James unleashed one of the most powerful weapons in his arsenal, one _not_ issued by Q Branch: his finest charming smile. “See, darling? he asked, spreading his hands. “Mission successfully completed, and I’m home mostly in one piece.”

Q pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose with the edge of the mug and frowned at James’ face. His eyes travelled over the bruises and scrapes, then down James’ neck to his collar, where they stopped. “Hm.” His gaze flicked up to James’ eyes, then back to his collar, head tilting assessingly. “You haven’t been to Medical. That bandage is your work. Do you need stitches or did you do them yourself?”

Wonderful. Leave it to the Quartermaster to fixate on the one thing that would take far more than a cup of tea and a bit of cuddling to explain. “It’s nothing. I was more worried about keeping my shirt collar clean,” James said, lying like the professional liar he was. “How’s the tea?”

“Close. You’ve been practicing. But you’re still a horrible liar.” Q took a sip of tea, his eyes never wavering from James’. “Too little milk, too much sugar. Brew time, excellent. Now tell me what happened, because I know I won’t find it in the AAR.”

 _That_ was true — more true than anyone could possibly guess. After-action reports crossed all sorts of desks, from the executive branch to accounting.

“Yes, well, that’s a bit complicated. Finish your tea. Then we can celebrate my return. Business can wait,” James said, feeling over the blankets until he encountered Q’s leg. Q had a distinctly feline enjoyment of petting, especially as the recipient. If all was truly fair in love and war, distraction was a legitimate tactic, and petting, while perhaps less effective than a flashbang grenade, was very appealing for both the distractor and the distractee.

Q sat completely still and stared at James over his tea mug, sipping gingerly and looking particularly owlish with the covers like a cowl half over his head. The only hint that he enjoyed the petting was the slight upwards curve of his mouth. After a minute or two — and half the cup of tea — he said, “I won’t celebrate until I know the damage. Tell.”

James was tenacious, yes, but not generally stupid. He knew when to surrender. He loosened his tie so he could undo the top button of his shirt. “It’s hardly anything. Almost entirely healed, I’m certain.”

That at least was true. In under twelve hours — the time it had taken for him to set the mouldering plantation on fire to cover his tracks, catch a plane, and have a decent shower — the wound had gone from cripplingly painful to throbbing to nothing more than a maddening itch. He doubted it would even leave a scar.

Q’s eyes never shifted. He sipped his tea, watching as James pried off the tape holding the gauze in place. Ripping medical tape off bare skin was never pleasant, but too many years of practice at resisting torture allowed James to hide his wince. He pulled off the gauze, folded it in half to cover the single tiny spot of blood, then binned it.

“See?” he said, tugging down the collar and turning to show the site of the wound. “Barely a scratch.”

“That’s a bloody puncture wound, and you know it. Two of them. Christ, James. Did you clean them?” Q leaned forward and reached his hand out, thin fingers brushing his neck, then taking hold of the collar. “Tetanus, lead poisoning, any number of microbes on rusty nails... How did you not bleed out?”

James knew precisely how he’d survived — if that was even the correct word — but Q hadn’t had nearly enough tea to cope with that little truth. Instead, as soothingly as he could manage, he said, “You know we’re fully immunized prior to being sent out in the field. And I’m right here, safe and sound. Which is your cue to tell me just how happy you are to see me.” He brought out the charming smile once more, though he doubted it would be enough of a distraction. When riled, Q had the tenacity of a guard dog.

Q scowled at him for a good fifteen seconds, then transferred his tea to one hand and held it steady. With his free hand, he tugged hard on James’ collar, bringing their faces together for a fierce kiss. James felt a little twinge — not quite pain, but something close — in his upper jaw, and he tried to pull free.

Too late.

A moment later Q drew back, his scowl gone and replaced with wide eyes. “What... James.” Bond’s name was a scolding in and of itself, but the note of confusion in Q’s voice tempered it slightly. Of course, there was no escape when his next word was, “Show.”

“This doesn’t have to change anything,” James lied rather ungracefully. The fangs that had shown up about eleven hours ago, as he was stumbling away from the fire and trying to find the keys to his rental car, meant that his words were a bit mangled. “I’m perfectly healthy. _Healthier_ , in fact.”

“You’re...” Q shook his head. He downed the rest of his tea, then set the mug on the nightstand and pulled the covers more tightly around himself. “No. This is absurd. I’ll not have it.”

“I had much the same thought,” James admitted around the fangs. They’d made an appearance two other times, and he still had no idea how to make them go away — or, for that matter, where they went. All in all, it was more than a little embarrassing. “No need to discuss it further, then. Would you like breakfast? Or can I entice you into the shower first?” he suggested, letting his voice go low and inviting. Q was the worst sort of morning person even in the afternoon, if he’d fallen asleep at the crack of dawn, but a shower was just the sort of thing to wake him up in all sorts of pleasant ways.

“I’m not showering with a...” Q’s scowl was back and his hand darted out to reach for James’ chin. “Let me see. I’ll need to research...”

With a quiet sigh, James opened his mouth the bare minimum required to display the tips of the two fangs that had replaced his perfectly normal human canines. He gave Q about two seconds to look, then said, “There’s no need for research. As I said, I’m perfectly healthy. Perhaps even _more_ healthy than I was before the start of this whole mess.”

“Fine. Wonderful for you.” Snark dripped off of Q’s words. “But what about me? I can’t kiss you anymore; it’s too dangerous.”

James went cold inside at the thought. He shook his head, _refusing_ to believe that this absurdity would cost him the one person he actually loved, and the feel of his shirt collar rasping over his skin reminded him of something. “It’s perfectly safe,” he said, wishing the bloody fangs would go away so he could smile properly. “She spent half the night kissing me without any adverse effect, until I tried to bring her in.”

Q let the blankets slip down as he crossed his arms and his scowl turned ice cold. “Not helping.” He huffed in exasperation and added, “And how can you be my agent like this? I can’t have you biting people, it’s ridiculous." He threw up his hands in defeat.

“The very _idea_ is ridiculous,” James pointed out as reasonably as he could manage while distracted. He was still trying to figure out how to put away his bloody fangs. “I’m not about to go chewing on complete strangers when I can just shoot them. If nothing else, it’s far less messy. To do _this_ ” — he gestured at his fangs — “she had to rip out half my throat.”

“For God’s sake, James!” Q actually looked alarmed and he cupped James’ face in his hands, staring into his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re okay. Sort of. Alive? Are you even alive?”

The physical contact reassured James that things were back on track. The caffeine must have finally hit Q’s bloodstream. Lowering his voice again, James suggested, “If we move this discussion to the shower, I can show you precisely how alive I am. You missed me while I was gone, didn’t you?”

“Yes, of course I did. Don’t be stupid. But a shower? Really?” Q leaned forward and lowered his voice to match James’. “That’s an awful lot of surface area to tempt you with those teeth...”

Relief made James dizzy. This ridiculous _condition_ of his didn’t have to change things after all. “You’ve been a temptation since the first day we met,” he said as he gave the blankets a tug. Unsatisfied with nesting under every blanket in the flat, Q wore ridiculously soft, warm pyjamas. James had made it a personal goal to coax Q into sleeping nude whenever they were together. He was successful about half the time.

“And I’ve applauded your restraint. To a point.” Q smiled and didn’t try to help James unwrap him. “Time to test it further?”

Ridiculous, lazy, utterly brilliant. James never imagined being in love with anyone — and if he had, he never would have imagined a man like this one. Grinning, James fisted his hand in the blanket and pulled with strength that caught them both by surprise, sending the blanket flying across the room.

Apparently, the fangs weren’t the only physiological side-effect of his new condition.

Before Q could do more than gape at him, wide-eyed, James scooped him into his arms. A twist ended with Q settled across his lap, clinging to him in surprise.

“It seems there may be benefits to this turn of events,” James said as he got comfortable under his genius.

“Not the word I was thinking. Challenges, maybe.” Q reached up and fingered James’ collar, then tugged on his tie.

“I heal remarkably faster than before. And apparently I’m both stronger and faster.” James nuzzled at Q’s hair, loving the way the strands were sticking every which way, though he’d never admit to it. Attempting to coax Q into seeing a proper stylist was one of James’ favourite pastimes. “I’m struggling to find the downside to this at all.”

The heat in Q’s eyes was tempered by humour. “Just tell me you don’t sparkle.”

James blinked. Q knew for a fact that he only went to _those_ sorts of nightclubs for a mission — and only under extreme duress. Accounts Payable was still talking about the dry cleaning bill he’d submitted as an expense after the last time he’d been exposed to glitter and fluorescent paint. “Sorry?”

Q smiled wryly and said, “Vampire joke. Never mind.”

 _Vampire joke..._ James frowned. “The whinging teenagers in Seattle? Christ, Q, I hope you’d think better of me than that.”

“Well, who knows? Maybe it depends on who bit you? Are you team Edward or team —”

“One more word, and I _will_ bite,” James threatened. “Back on track, Quartermaster. I made you tea. Now, I want to get you out of those bloody pyjamas so we can be properly reunited after another successful mission. Any objections?”

“Keep those teeth away from my skin, and _maybe_ I’ll undress for you. But yes, a reunion is definitely in order.” Q looked down and unknotted James’ tie with quick movements of his long, clever fingers. He slid the silk out from under the shirt collar, then looked back into James’ eyes with a soft, warm smile. “Welcome home, James. I’m glad you’re back, even if you are a vampire.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [First Cup of Tea: Another AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176034) by [takumiismypatronus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/takumiismypatronus/pseuds/takumiismypatronus)




End file.
